


in taking it apart

by youcouldmakealife



Series: in taking it apart [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t say it, can you,” Liam asks, with a bitter little laugh that’s so incongruous coming from him. “You can’t even fucking say it. You’re such a fucking coward.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	in taking it apart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of you, you've been lovely. This is the end of Mike's fuck parade of an internal monologue, if not the end of his reluctant love story. And now who knows what's coming next!
> 
> Endless thanks to Clo, who was a tremendous help from the beginning, and endlessly patient with me, especially when I was running in from a cigarette in her backyard going "I HAVE INSPIRATION!!!". I totally did not deserve that patience.
> 
> And now to hop onto a plane and hopefully start dreaming of the next idiots in love. If you want to keep an eye on that, I remain, eternally, [here](http://youcouldmakealife.tumblr.com).

There’s an off-day between the unofficially mandated Oilers drinking night and any officially mandated function, but Mike shows up to press day hungover and bitter with it. He’d turned his phone off after he’d arrived home the night before last, two unread texts from Liam, and then gone straight to the hard liquor. His phone’s still off. If there’s an emergency, someone’s shit out of luck, but he needed a day. 

He’s had one. That’s all he gets. Today’s media day, and Mike’s lucky enough that hungover and bitter is the attitude he gives off all the time, or management would be on his fucking ass. It doesn’t suit Liam so well--Mike’s not sure about the hungover part, but he hasn’t cracked a fucking smile since interviews started, and even the media have started to exchange concerned looks, to say nothing of the actual team.

When Mike finally gets a minute, he goes to escape from the scrum, gets Rogers’ hand around his arm. Mike looks down at Rogers’ hand, then at Rogers’ face, the plastered on concerned expression.

“I like you,” Mike says. “But I swear to god, if you say anything about him to me right now I’m going to punch you in the face.”

Rogers looks hard at him, as if gauging Mike’s sincerity, which is absolute, then lets go of Mike’s arm. Mike walks out, then keeps walking, right out of the building and to where the building staff are the officially mandated ten-meter distance for smoking. Something about his expression gets a cigarette and lighter mutely handed to him, and he fucking needs one, so he stays outside with them, a little cold in his shirtsleeves but not willing to go back inside quite yet.

No one’s really clamoring to talk to him, but he has a professional reputation and a pair of fists and fuck-all else, so he goes inside after the cigarette is nothing but ash and filter. Liam’s tried to meet his eyes a couple times, and he tries again, but he’s young and skilled, and the future is just about all the Oilers have to their name right now, so he hasn’t had a second to himself. Mike can’t avoid him forever, but he hopes he can long enough that he can think of something to say that isn’t just “you’re a fucking infant, what the fuck do you think you know about love?”, because he doesn’t think it’ll get him anywhere. Hell, Liam will probably have a smart fucking response to it.

He manages to get through the day, even better, manages to get through the day without talking to Liam or succumbing to the throbbing behind his temples he woke up with and that no aspirin could wipe out. He goes home, where he’s got a fridge full of food and a cupboard full of alcohol, a turned off phone and a door that locks. Doesn’t see the harm of spending another night with those things. It’s not exactly a sustainable habit, but it’ll do fine until preseason hits.

Mike’s halfway through his second beer and suddenly invested in a marathon of Trading Spaces when there’s a knock on the door. He ignores it, and when it continues, he turns his TV up, because he still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to say, and he’s a fucking coward. He knows he is. He’s accepted it.

When the knocking becomes a scratching sound, Mike mutes the TV, and then when that scratching becomes kind of ominous he goes to the front hall, yanks the door open to Liam crouched in front of his door.

“Are you seriously trying to break into my house right now?” Mike asks.

Liam frowns and stands. “You always told me I should be able to.”

“I didn’t mean you _should_ ,” Mike says.

“Well how else am I supposed to talk to you?” Liam asks. “You turned your phone off. Even Roge couldn’t get through.”

Of course he got reinforcements. Of course he told Rogers. And now Mike’s going to see a concerned face every time he walks into the locker room. Fuck that.

“One minute,” Mike says. “I’m giving you one minute.”

“I’m in love with you,” Liam blurts.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “You told me that. I’m pretty sure I responded.”

“I want you to say it to my face,” Liam says, jaw set. He’s miserable looking, more downtrodden than Mike’s ever seen him, and for a minute Mike wants to believe him. For a minute he almost does.

“You’re nineteen,” Mike says. “You have the attention span of a fucking goldfish. You couldn’t last four months without getting your dick sucked. And you’ve decided that you love me, because what? I’m the first one who had their dick in you? I couldn’t shake you the fuck off?”

“You didn’t want it to be anything,” Liam says, low. “You didn’t want to be with me, and now you’re mad because I found someone who would?”

“I think you don’t know shit about what you’re talking about,” Mike says. “Minute’s up.”

“No,” Liam says.

Mike rolls his eyes, reaches for the door.

“You keep calling me immature,” Liam asks. “You’re the one who can’t have a fucking conversation without running away.”

As chirps go, it’s pretty transparent, but that doesn’t mean it’s not effective. Mike drops his hand, waits. Hopes his face conveys how little time he has for this shit.

“Do you want me?” Liam asks, quiet.

“Don’t be fucking obtuse,” Mike snaps.

“Do you want to be with me?” Liam asks.

Mike closes his eyes. “This isn’t black and white, Liam,” he says.

“You’re the only one making it complicated!” Liam yells.

Jesus fucking Christ, Mike is a miserable neighbor to have. He’d bring Liam inside, but he doesn’t trust either of them right now. Doesn’t know if he’d throw a punch or kiss him at this point, but they’re equally disastrous.

“Do you want to be with me?” Liam presses.

“Look,” Mike says. “You have your little crush on me, and that’s fine, that’s great, you’re a great fuck, you’re a good kid, you’ll be a good boyfriend for someone. And you’ll get over this idea you have in your head that you’re in love with me, and both of us will move the fuck on, and we’ll probably both be happier. But right now, you need to get over this. And you need to let me get over this.”

Liam looks up at him, hard, eyes hard, lips a firm line. Christ, he’s shaking. He’s shaking like a fucking leaf, like he’s scared, and Mike gets it, because his heart’s in his throat. He’s never wanted to run from a confrontation more, but Liam called him on his cowardice, and he can’t prove him right. He can’t be that too. 

“You didn’t answer me,” he says, and the look on his face says he isn’t going to leave until he gets it. That if Mike closes the door he’ll break it down or he’ll try until the fucking cops come.

“The answer’s irrelevant,” Mike says.

“You can’t say it, can you,” Liam asks, with a bitter little laugh that’s so incongruous coming from him. “You can’t even fucking say it. You’re such a fucking coward.”

Mike bites his tongue.

“You called me,” Liam says. “ You called me at four in the morning, and you were so drunk, and you told me you kept thinking about coming to see me, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. That you thought about it all the fucking time. You don’t remember that, do you.”

Oh, god.

“And you didn’t call me after that, not once,” Liam says. “And you didn’t come. I kept waiting for it. But you didn’t.”

“Liam--” Mike starts. 

“Please,” Liam says. “Can’t you just tell me? Just once?”

“You might want me now--” Mike starts, then, “You’re a _child_.”

“You haven’t even given me a _chance_ ,” Liam says.

Mike looks at him helplessly.

Liam takes a step forward, curls his fingers around Mike’s wrist. “Please,” he says.

“Don’t ask me to do this,” Mike says, but when Liam takes another step forward, face pressed into his chest, his hand comes up, automatically cups the back of his head.

“I will,” Liam says. “I promise. I’ll stay.”

“You can’t promise that,” Mike says. 

“I can try,” Liam says, muffled into Mike’s chest. “And I love you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mike says into Liam’s hair, but he doesn’t let go.


End file.
